The city of Denver was founded on this day in 1858. If you haven’t been here, check it out. It’s a helluva town. Everyone who wasn’t born here has a story as to why they moved to Denver, and here’s mine. About 20 years ago I was driving around the country in a 1967 Chevy Corvair. No destination in mind, just living in motel rooms and writing dystopian sci-fi novels. I’d spent the night at a rather shady Denver motel and was on my way out, heading East down Colfax, when I out of the corner of my eye I spotted a wild vintage bar sign for a dive bar called the Lion’s Lair. I stopped in for a drink, because I always do when I see those signs, and I quickly estimated the Lair was the finest dive bar on the planet. I drank there from 9 in the morning to last call then bedded down in the Corvair. Come morning, after bracing myself with a handful of Bloody Marys at the Lair, I walked in concentric circles until I found a place for rent three blocks away. I wrote most of the third book in one of the bar’s booths. It was also where this magazine was conceived. It was love at first sight. A strange, twisted sort of love. Denver has changed a lot since then, but the Lair’s still there, and it’s still a helluva town.